


On a fine day

by sycamoretree



Category: The Hobbit - All Media Types, The Hobbit - J. R. R. Tolkien, The Lord of the Rings - All Media Types
Genre: Chance Meetings, Dwalin/Ori - Freeform, Dwori - Freeform, First Meetings, Fluff, Week of Orwal, cuteness, dwarfling!Ori, grown dwarves taking care of little ones, mentioned violence against children, young!Dwalin - Freeform
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-03-01
Updated: 2015-03-01
Packaged: 2018-03-15 19:16:02
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 999
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3458741
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/sycamoretree/pseuds/sycamoretree
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Written for Week of Orwal day 1 with the prompt word 'Chance Meeting'. I will post other ficlets for day 3 and 5. I hope you enjoy this like I do.</p>
            </blockquote>





	On a fine day

On one fine day, Dwalin was patrolling the street in the Blue Mountains as a town-guard keeping order.

His thick and standing hairline, impressive stance, and the large axe strapped to his back demanded respect and people moving out of his way. Good, it was too good a day to be intervening in fights and solving disputes.

Suddenly Dwalin heard shouts from light voices ahead, and Dwalin tensed on instinct and glanced at the group of striplings and dwarflings who teased and fed a large, furry pig in its muddy pen.

Dwalin relaxed somewhat upon not finding the royal rascals in the cluster. Fili and Kili were good lads, but mischievous and far too undisciplined at times. They were always trying Dwalin’s patience while he was teaching them how to fight.

Dwalin had strolled closer to the group when startled screams stirred the playful scene and then all the dwarflings scattered and ran off. All except one.

“Uh-oh,” a hitched statement came from a short, copper-haired dwarfling bundled up in coat and boots. The pig had gotten hold of the lad’s long scarf and was tugging and chewing more and more of it into his hungry gap; leaving the dwarfling stuck and slowly choking.

Dwalin moved quickly when he realized the danger, grabbed the stretched yarn and tried to wrestle it back from the pig. The animal squealed and shook its head so the dwarfling swayed violently and started to cry and pull at his restricting scarf with beginning panic.

Dwalin did what he saw as the only solution then. He removed a dagger from his boot and sliced through the threads which freed the lad.

The little dwarfling stumbled back to regain his balance with tears in his eyes before looking down at the ruined scarf and wasn’t his lips a little blue as he panted?

Dwalin was concerned and once he had put the dagger back in its place he knelt and held the dwarfling’s narrow shoulders.

“Laddie, are you alright?”

The dwarfling didn’t answer him, as his attention was directed to the tattered ends of his knitted scarf.

“Oh no; it’s completely ruined. My brother is going to be mad at me.”

Dwalin tilted his head and inquired softly, “Will he hit you?”

Some dwarves handled the exile from Erebor and constant lack of luck badly and directed their frustration towards those who had the least responsibility for dwarffolks’ tragedy; the dwarflings born long after Smaug invaded Erebor and made all the Eastern dwarves homeless.

Dwalin hated those cases when the guards had to intrude in people’s homes to save frightened, mistreated dwarflings from their own kins. And this slight dwarfling was too small to receive bruises.

The lad ducked his mouth down into the scarf and mumbled with his eyes averted, “No, but he’ll complain because he made it for me on my celebration day. I never play wild games with the others, but it seemed like so much fun to feed the pig and I didn’t mean for it to get me!”

Feeling sorry for the dwarfling’s failed entertainment, Dwalin brought his calloused hand up and and stroke his cheek.

“Well, tell him it was either save the scarf, or save you, and that a town-guard made the decision for you.”

The lad looked up and wasn’t scared by Dwalin’s appearance like so many others; only sad. Tears were finally spilling down his flushed cheeks.

“Do you need a hug?” Dwalin asked and received a nod.

The lad threw himself in Dwalin’s warm embrace and he hugged the trembling and sobbing dwarfling. After a moment of Dwalin rocking and hushing his armful of dwarfling, and some glaring at passer-bys who stared curiously at them, the lad seemed to settle.

Dwalin guided him to his feet again and removed from a pocket a clean cloth for wiping his weapons and dried the dwarfling’s face.

“There. Respectable again and in one piece.”

“Thank you, mister,” the dwarfling piped up.

“And maybe you should stay away from the pigs in the future, eh? They are hungrier than they look, and they do eat meat.”

Wide eyes met Dwalin’s.

“They do? Even dwarflings?”

“Especially wee, sweet dwarflings,” Dwalin confirmed, but winked when the dwarfling rubbed his boots together anxiously and glanced with fear at the smacking pig behind Dwalin who had spat out the inedible strings by now.

Dwalin stood and placed his hands on his hips while considering the very short figure before him.

“Well, it’s getting late and I believe dwarflings like you should be heading home for supper by now. Run along, there’s a good laddie.”

Strangely, the dwarfling lingered and lifted his face so Dwalin had a good look at the freckled button-nose.

“My brother says I need to thank people who do favours for me. What can I call you, mister?”

“Eh, Dwalin is alright,” Dwalin grunted, not wanting his noble reputation to precede him with this sweet lad. Being a Fundin associated with the royal line of Durin could intimidate some people from engaging in conversation.

“Thank you for rescuing me, mister Dwalin,“ the short lad chimed and bowed. Dwalin found himself blushing at the entirerly unnecessary but very charming display of good manners. Then the lad spun and began running off along the street, quicker on his feet than Dwalin had anticipated.

“Hey, stop right there!” Dwalin called with a hint of his commanding town-guard’s voice and the dwarfling promptly froze and turned around. His eyes conveyed worry and Dwalin hated that he had been the cause for that.

“What’s your name, little one?”

“I am Ori.”

Dwalin smiled broadly when the lad relaxed and began swinging his tiny fists restlessly. Dwalin raised a hand and waved, somehow ignoring if he looked ridiculous in his armour while humouring a dwarfling, because he wanted to show the lad the same courtesy.

“Nice to meet you Ori. And take care of yourself.”

And that was the fine day when Dwalin first met Ori.


End file.
